


Watchtower

by redtrouble



Series: Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Sir Brash [5]
Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 17:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15124148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Sir Brash and Bright share a moment in a watchtower in a swamp. Brash's POV. (Spoilers if...well, you know the drill!) Rated M for mature language and sexual situations.





	Watchtower

Sir Brash watched Bright carefully. They were all tired after their encounter with the worgs, but she was especially dead on her feet, swaying and stumbling and, judging by the blank look on her face, completely lost in thought. Though he was the leader of their expedition, the road was straight, so he would periodically allow her to overtake him just so he could check on her and he couldn’t help but notice that she was growing more sluggish with every passing hour.

A few times, he almost reached out to give her back a gentle push, but hesitated. Pushing her wouldn’t make her walk any faster, not with the energy she burned. He glanced at the sky. They still had a few hours of daylight left, enough to cover some real ground, even with her dragging her feet. But she seemed so tired and was possibly still in pain as her body struggled to recover from the shock of using her power for the first time.

Brash started to reach for her back, cursed under his breath, then intentionally bumped into her. Damn her. Why the hell did he even care? She was a dead woman walking.

“What the hell!” he snarled as Bright snapped out of her trance. “Girl, watch where you’re going! Where the fuck are your eyes?”

“I’m sorry, Sir…” she said tiredly, genuine concern in her eyes. She reached out to touch his arm as if to console him for her misbehavior. He grunted and slipped out of her reach, biting back his anger.

“You’re no good in this state,” he growled as the others caught up to them. “All right, since the genius Bright girl had to mess herself up and slow us down, we’re gonna stop for another rest.” He narrowed his gaze on her exhausted face and cruelly smirked. “Or do you want me to carry you and use your ass for a shield?”

“No…”

He was being unfair, he knew he was—blaming her for his own decision, blaming her for something she didn’t even know she could do, blaming her for his anger—and damn right he was. It was all her fault. Why the fuck did he have to care about her so much?

“We’re near the old watchers’ lodge,” he told them and started off down the road. The others quickly followed him. He hated the sound of their footsteps, wished like hell they were somewhere else. Another reminder of what he had to do. “If there were watchers there in any recent time, the swamp ghosts must have eaten them,” he said, knowing those superstitious kittens scared easily. He felt like messing with them, gunning for fear. “But that’s none of our concern right now.”

“The ghosts of the ancient kingdom,” Tunes whispered, terror edging his voice. “No! _No_!”

“We’re not in the haunted lands,” Jasper declared but his tone was unsteady. “Are we?”

Brash laughed and glanced back at them. “You fucking pussies! Yeah, these _are_ the so-called haunted lands.” He relished the upset look on their faces. And these were supposed to be soldiers. Cowards. Worthless, all of them. “People have gone missing here,” he told them and then swung forward, continuing his brusque march, “but I’m thinking they may have just shat themselves to death in a bush somewhere, because I never got attacked by any ghosts.” He grinned. “I guess I’m not tasty enough for them, but _you_ might be, you little chickens…”

They were uncomfortably silent for a moment before the crazy archer broke the ice.

“So, the Sir believes…there is no real danger?”

Brash rolled his good eye. “The real danger is Rivera.” The tower crested the road as it leveled out and he nodded toward it. “Now, the tower is just an abandoned shit hole. We’re going in so the girl can take her nap.”

“That’s very considerate of you, Sir,” Fisher said, and Brash had to fight every instinct in his body not to turn around and break the old man’s face.

“You shut up, you backstabbing wreck!” he snarled. “She’s been dragging her feet like a beaten cat. It’s bloody annoying.”

“No, please, I’m fine!” Bright insisted but he waved his arm to silence her.

“Don’t drag your butt in my way and do as you’re told!”

No one said another word. In half-an-hour, they left the swamp behind and the watchtower was just another ten minutes down the road. The sky was a pale wash of clouds and they were bathed with gray light. Rain was coming.

They made it to the tower and the musty smell of abandonment pierced their nostrils. Brash led the way inside, swatting at the spider webs in the doorway. The windows and murder holes let in the daylight well enough to see clearly, though there wasn’t much to look at but gray stones and piles of moldy hay. There were two rooms, one on the right and another on the left.

Brash pointed to the room on the right. “Guess you idiots can all fuck yourselves in that room over there, and I’ll be watching over the kitty girl.” He turned a glare on them. “If she manages to escape, shoot her. You all got that?”

Tunes and Jasper nodded but their eyes were on the ground. Fisher just shook his hung head. He told them to do it but he knew they wouldn’t—well, the squirrely archer might, but out of fear, not orders. Besides, shooting her would do nothing but give him a good excuse to gut one of them. They couldn’t kill her.

But he almost wished they could, just to spare him from having to be the one to betray her…

Brash angrily cut the spider webs out of the door on the left and stood aside while Bright went in. He followed her, standing guard at the door, cursing under his breath. Why was this happening to him? He barely knew her. There was no way her life should matter more than his own. It was a done deal. There was no undoing it. So why the fuck should he have to feel this guilty?

Bright suddenly started removing her armor. He knew that first night she slept in it had been rough and he knew that she was wearing clothes underneath it, but he couldn’t help but think of the gesture as sexual. He looked away, made himself busy examining the room—the walls, the windows, grass outside—anything to not watch her undress. Just the thought of it was sending all the blood straight to his groin. He didn’t need an erection, not with this level of rage.

Brash cursed under his breath again. It shouldn’t even be an issue. He had seen plenty of women without their clothes on and it hadn’t turned him into a horny dog happy to hump anything that moved. He had never lost control, but now it was slipping and he didn’t understand why he wanted her so badly. Was it because she was a firehair? Was it because she called him “Sir” in that sweet voice of hers? Or was it because he couldn’t have her?—not without letting her go, at any rate. But he would have to do that no matter what, whether he had her or not.

He suddenly hated Orchid for getting her into this. She didn’t deserve to be a demonheart. She was too weak for it. Even if Rivera didn’t get her, someone else would. She was a _dead woman walking_ and there was nothing he could do to save her. So why the fuck did he want to so badly?

Brash finally looked at her. “All this crap because of a witch’s experiments,” he spat. “Those girl-kissing hags should be slaughtered on sight, everywhere.”

“I don’t think they’re all evil,” Bright said, rubbing her slender, bare arms. “Orchid wasn’t.”

“Is that why you killed her?”

“I didn’t!” she said, voice rising, and her arms dropped to her side, preparing to argue her innocence.

“I don’t care, girl. I have no use for witches.” And she shouldn’t either! This was all Orchid’s fault. “Might as well kill them all.” He narrowed his gaze on her sudden pout, filled with an urge to tease her. “Wait. You’re a not a witch yourself, are you?” He took a cautious step toward her. “How old are you? Are you some kind of old crone taken the form of a young girl?”

One of her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand the fucking joke. It was adorable. “I am not a witch,” she answered seriously.

“You used to spend your time kissing a witch’s butt,” he said, stalling as he drew nearer. “That’s pretty much the same to me.”

“I only worked for her—” She swallowed the rest of her words when she realized he was so close and not stopping. Her eyebrows pinned back in surprise as he slipped his left arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

“Prove it,” he said with a grin, leaning toward her.

“Sir, please…” she whispered.

His kitten was blushing as she half-heartedly pushed against his chest as though she could fucking move him. Her thick, dark lashes seemed to kiss her cheeks as her gaze dropped to his mouth before she lifted her chin and her eyes met his. For a moment, his mouth hovered near hers and all he could hear was their audible breathing and the blood thrumming in his ears.

Brash stared down at her inviting, parted lips. This girl was a demonheart like him but all she had to show for it was a scar around her neck. Not like him, covered in them. Their differences only grew in number. He was all hard muscle and she was soft, so soft against him… He was incredibly strong and she was weak. He would break her if he wasn’t careful.

His right hand caught her ribcage and roughly glided up to her left breast. Her hands flew to his arm in a futile attempt to stop him. He could feel her heart beating under his palm, right where it should be. Right where his wasn’t. While she still had a heart…she still had a chance. Didn’t she?

“Wh-what are you doing?”

His gaze left her lips and moved to her eyes. “Just checking if you have a heart,” he murmured.

Bright’s eyes flashed with anger and embarrassment as she shoved his arm to the side. “Liar!” She must have thought he was making fun of her. “You just wanted to touch me!” She backed up a couple paces to put some distance between them like a wounded kitten.

“Good thing you’re not dumb,” he said and she huffed and looked away. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you,” he muttered mostly to himself as he turned away. “It won’t matter when I return home.” Brash pushed his hand through his hair and started walking toward the door. “Go to sleep,” he threw over his shoulder. “I’ll take the watch.”

“Okay, Sir. Goodnight, Sir,” she snapped in an indignant tone and he whirled to face her.

It was the first time she had ever been angry with him—or at least let it show—but even this kitten’s anger was docile. Any other woman would have slapped him and told him to fuck off. If this was her worst, she was a fucking saint.

“Good girl,” he snapped back. “Now shut your godsdamned mouth.” Brash started to turn away but stopped. “Are you cold?” he asked, eyeing her hard nipples through her shift. When she saw where he was looking, she wrapped her arms around herself, covering her chest.

“Yes. Are you going to laugh at me?”

Brash resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing he deserved her ire. He reached into his backpack, pulled out his black, silk tunic, and tossed it to her. She caught it with wide-eyed surprise, all the fire in her instantly doused. She gingerly clutched the shirt with her delicate fingers, staring at it in wonder. He could already tell it would swallow her just seeing it held up against her chest like that.

When she finally looked up, all traces of her anger were gone. She nodded, lifted the shirt, and said in a small voice, “Thank you. I’ll return it in the morni—”

“Keep it,” he said and turned away, instantly subdued by her gentleness. He hated it. He wanted to be angry at her, wanted to hate her, wanted any reason not to give a shit about her. Brash went to the door and stood in its frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“Is this your brush?” she started to ask.

“No,” he barked without turning around.

“Why do you hate me?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t hate you,” he growled. In the flattest, cruelest tone he could muster, he said, “You’re just a dead girl. I shouldn’t be thinking about you at all.”

Bright didn’t ask any more questions. She stood there for awhile, he guessed, from the way he didn’t hear her moving around. Just when he was about to turn around and yell at her to go to sleep, he heard her pull the tunic over her head and lie down in the hay.

Brash sighed and leaned his back against the cobblestones, listening to the sound of her breathing. He had told her this was a nap but he knew better. He remembered the first time he had used his powers. He’d been well-fed and well-conditioned and he still slept for over twelve hours. Bright would easily sleep through the night.

After an hour had passed, Jasper and Tunes went up to the nest to light a fire and cook some dinner. Fisher went up a little while later. The smell of bacon filtered down through the stairwell and made his mouth water but he didn’t budge. Soon the light outside the windows darkened and he heard thunder rumbling in the distance. Another hour passed and Jasper came down to hand him some bacon wrapped in a warm heel of bread.

“Thought you might be hungry, Sir,” the boy said but his eyes were looking into Bright’s room, probably hoping to confirm she was okay.

Brash yanked the sandwich from him. “Thanks,” he growled. “Now go away.”

Jasper pursed his lips, hesitated, then nodded. He went across the hall without another word. Brash ripped off a bite of the tough bread and chewed, enjoying the salty meat’s savory flavor. He quickly finished it. Tunes and Fisher came down not long after and disappeared into their room without so much as a glance at Brash.

More thunder rumbled and a cool breeze caught his face and neck. He wished like hell he could take all that armor off and enjoy the breeze fully. Outside the windows, the world was black. Soon it would be cooler, especially with the rain, and he would have a least a small reprieve. Brash closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of moldy watchtower and the crisp scent of coming rain. The sky growled again and there was a flash of light.

The scrape of boots on cobblestones caused his to eyes to snap open, hand already on the hilt of his sword, two inches drawn. Fisher halted mid-step in shock then held up his pipe for Brash to see. Annoyed, he slammed his sword back into its sheath and motioned him away. Within moments, he could smell the tobacco and grudgingly hoped the sky opened up on the old fool, but he was back within ten minutes, dry as seasoned firewood. He ducked into the other room and, after a few moments, there was no more movement in the watchtower.

Brash closed his eyes again and prepared to catch light snips of sleep, just like he had the previous night. Standing up would ensure he never slept too soundly, always alert. There was another rumble and then came the soft patter of rain on cobblestone. A rush of cold air came through the windows, cooling his neck and face. He breathed it in, hoping to draw the coldness into him. And then he opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling, unable to sleep for thoughts of her…

And that was how his night went, fits of light sleep and thoughts of Bright that ranged from overtly sexual to sickeningly romantic. And such thoughts were accompanied with a plethora of emotions—lust and guilt and rage and regret and…

Brash pinched the bridge of his nose as he shook himself awake. It was still dark outside but the sky was lightening enough to allow him to see the shapes in the room. It had stopped raining sometime in the night. He rolled his neck on his shoulders and groaned. His whole body felt stiff from the cold and the way he’d slept. He stepped outside Bright’s room to take a piss in the corner then double-checked the men’s room. They were still fast asleep. He went back into Bright’s room and noted her things stacked in the corner.

Quietly as could be, he searched her possessions, even the armor. It once belonged to a member of the Serpent’s Guild and they were known for their secrets, but he didn’t find a single thing in any of the hidden compartments. By the time he was done, there was enough light in the sky for him to see the whole of the room. He dug through her satchel but only found the tattered dress she had been wearing in prison, his hairbrush, and her journal.

He took off his right glove and ran his thumb over the bristles, admiring her red hair tangled in them. He lifted it to his nose and smelled but his was the only scent on the brush. He put it down and picked up the journal. Sinister cover. He opened it and flipped through the pages, stopping only to read whenever he saw his name. It was mostly just a record of events, nothing juicy or intriguing. He dropped it back in her sack and stood up, put his glove back on, looked around…

And his gaze settled on her. He watched her sleep, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way the breeze tousled the flyaway strands of hair around her face and neck. He gazed at the scar across her throat but it was hard to see clearly. She was pale in the morning light but her lips were dark and called out to him. What right did she have to be this beautiful? To make him want her this much? He was going fucking crazy.

Bright frowned, eyelids fluttering. He watched her dream, wondering what she was seeing in that pretty head of hers. And then she started mumbling. He couldn’t make out all the words, but he did hear “child” and something about having to help him. When she winced and started to thrash, he dropped to his knees and shook her.

“Wake up!” he urged her. “Nothing’s happening!”

Bright tossed her head, quickly coming to, and blinked furiously, trying to focus on her surroundings. Her hands desperately grasped at him for grounding. One hand found purchase on his arm, the other pressed against his breastplate. Brash ripped his glove off again and put his hand to her forehead. She was a little sweaty but cool, not feverish in the slightest. It really was just a bad dream. When her gaze focused, she seemed relieved to see him.

“You were talking in your sleep,” he told her as she took deep, slow breaths to calm down. “One has to wonder where you got these ideas about a child that needs your help, considering you were supposed to be a decent young girl with no children.”

At first, she seemed confused…and then some strange emotion pulled the corners of her mouth down and the hand on his arm went to her eyes, covering them with her thin fingers. She swallowed and brushed her hair away from her face.

“There might’ve been a child,” she whispered hoarsely, “who needed me. One day.” Her lower lip quivered for a moment. “But not anymore.”

Brash couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d kicked him in the gut. He stared at her as a wave of grief crashed over his head. Demonhearts were sterile. He could never have children…and neither could she. His gaze dropped to her stomach. He didn’t know what he was doing when he reached up and gently took her hand in his—it was like his body was acting on its own while his mind floated somewhere far above.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” he heard himself whisper, and it was the strain in his voice that got him. Why did he want to help this kitten? Why did he want to fix her problems and give her things? He gently helped her sit up, unsure of what to say. Her gaze moved from his face to his shoulder and beyond. He turned his head to see her things scattered behind him. “I’ve had a little search while you were asleep,” he explained. “Have to make sure you’re not writing letters to your idiot boyfriend.”

Bright gave him a gentle but reprimanding look. She had told him to stop calling Target Practice her boyfriend, insisted it was beyond over between them. He didn’t know why he said it right then. To tease her? So she would look at him like that? To hear her deny it one more time—that she belonged to anyone—because, in that moment, he wanted to possess her more than anything in the whole world.

“I watched you while you slept,” he heard himself say. What the fuck was he saying? Why was he telling her that?

Bright didn’t look repulsed or frightened when she whispered, “I know.”

He reached up and caught her chin, tilted her head up. Light had started streaming into the room, highlighting the dust motes floating in the air. Even in this light, the scar was thin and pale.

“The scar on your neck is barely visible,” he told her. “Good, I guess.”

Bright looked up with him with doe-eyes and her cheeks were tinted pink. He gently wrapped his hand around her neck and pulled her closer until her body was touching his. He was caught in the gravity of the moment, unable to escape no matter how much his guilt screamed at him, reminding him how this sweet, little kitten had been through so much wrong—turned into a demonheart, falsely accused of murder—and yes, he decided, she _was_ innocent—a beheading, thrown in prison, spit on, dumped by her fiancée, dragged to a war camp, and thrust into the arms of the man who would betray her.

Yeah, he would betray her, but not because he had a fucking choice. If he could choose, he would save her. He would protect her for the rest of his godsdamned life. He would buy her fine things, dress her in silk and jewels, and he would make love to her—and he would actually give a fuck if she came or not. Gods, he wanted her so bad. He wanted all of her!

Bright leaned up and he met her halfway, crushing her lips with his. A spark went straight to his groin and he felt himself instantly harden under his armor. He pushed her down into the hay and—finally, _finally_ —tangled his fingers into her gorgeous red hair. He groaned against her mouth. Then one kiss became a dozen, open-mouthed and wet as his tongue assaulted hers, devouring her.

His other hand held her body, sliding along her side to her thigh where he squeezed and pulled her hips against his. She wouldn’t feel how hard he was for her and he couldn’t feel the heat between her thighs, but his hips instinctively sought hers. She arched against him, gasping between kisses.

Brash couldn’t take it anymore as the threat of frenzy crawled up his spine and into his brain. He pinned her arms over her head as he broke away from her mouth to trail kisses down her jaw to her throat. The sound of her pleasured gasps wrecked him. She wanted him, too, wanted to be with him, to feel the things he was making her feel. As Brash placed a tender kiss against the scar on her throat, the realization that she trusted him hit him in full force.

_Godsdamnit, what have you done?_

He slowly pulled back and stared down at her. Her eyes were misty and half-lidded, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen from his aggressive kisses, and she was looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. What have you done?!_

Brash pushed himself up and grimaced at the look of absolute hurt and confusion that flashed across her face. She swallowed hard and he thought her saw her lip quiver.

“Sir?”

“I’m not supposed to be doing that with you,” he growled angrily, but all his anger was at himself. He shook his head, ran his hand over his face. “Damn, did you fuck me up.”

“Why not?” Her voice almost cracked. He couldn’t look at her. He was so fucking stupid.

“I don’t want it! Fuck off!” he yelled, surprising even himself. Her sharp breath and whimper slayed him. Before he could react, someone was in the doorway.

“Is…everything all right here?” the old man asked and Brash glared at him.

“Yes,” Bright said, quickly sitting up. Her voice was shaky with emotion. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her quickly wiping tears off her cheeks. “Yes,” she said again.

Fisher wasn’t fooled but he wasn’t stupid enough to voice it. “I’m glad,” he said then looked at Brash. “Can we continue on, Sir?”

“Yeah. We’re leaving,” Brash grumbled and he stomped out of the room before anything else could be said. He passed Jasper in the hallway, ignoring whatever dumb thing that was starting to come out of his mouth, and pushed out into the cold morning air. Tunes, who was pissing in a bush, was startled by his sudden clamor and nearly sprayed his own shoes.

Brash didn’t stop walking until he hit the road. The sky was a smattering of gray clouds. Even though the rain had stopped, the storm had yet to move on. They could expect more rain. Not that it mattered. They would reach Rivera’s lair before nightfall… And when they did, nothing would matter. Not Bright’s innocence, his regret, or even their kiss and all the feelings associated with it. Nothing. Because she’d be dead…and it would be his fault.

Brash closed his eyes and tilted his face up to the sky. He was a fucking fool.


End file.
